Come One, Come All
by Booklady
Summary: Harry has been in seclusion since the defeat of Voldemort. It takes a major event to get him out of his shell. All these characters, etc. belong to J.K Rowling.


Come One, Come All

"You could have told me, you know, Harry," Hermione scolded.

Harry blinked, and pulled the door of his house a little further open. "And hello to you, too, Hermione. Come on in."

Hermione suppressed her small wince at the husky ruin of his voice – the spell that had destroyed Voldemort had not been without price – and swept past him into the hall. "Don't change the subject," she said, waving the parchment in her hand as Harry shut the door behind her and gestured her into the living room. "Why did we have to find out through the mail?"

"Find out about what?" He sounded genuinely bewildered. Hermione huffed and thrust the parchment into his hand, flopping down on the couch with a sigh. She'd been on her feet way too long today for a pregnant lady.

Harry glanced at the parchment and his eyes widened. Before he could speak, however, there was the bang of Apparition and an irate blond shoved another parchment into his hands.

"Dammit, Potter!" Draco Malfoy shouted. "You told me you told them no!"

"I did tell them no!" Harry shouted back, his voice definitely not improved with increased volume.

"Then how do you explain that?" Draco demanded, sneering at the parchment in Harry's hand. He seemed to register Hermione's presence then, for he turned and said, in his usual quiet and cultured tones, "Hello, Gr – Weas – Hermione. You got one too?"

"Hello, Draco," said Hermione, smiling. "I think Harry might be the only one in the wizarding world who _didn't_ get one. My in-laws are planning to make an expedition of it."

Harry winced, and headed for his favourite armchair by the fireplace. Hermione was happy to see that his limp was far less pronounced than when she had seen him last. "Look," he said. "They asked me to help with this historical thing, and I said no. Repeatedly, until they went away. I have no plans for that night but a lot of junk food and the Monty Python retrospective on the telly."

"On the first anniversary of Voldemort's death? Never mind. It looks like you failed to make your point with _someone_," drawled Draco, tilting a brow at the parchment he had handed Harry. It, like the one Hermione had had, was an invitation to the grand opening of a new wing of the Wizard History Museum. It sang the praises of the 2nd War of Voldemort retrospective that was its inaugural exhibition, and announced in no uncertain terms that Harry Potter himself, in his first public appearance since the defeat of Voldemort, would be in attendance to cut the ribbon on the new wing.

"Short of actual hexes, I was pretty clear," said Harry.

"Well, obviously we'll have to do something about this," said Draco. "We can't have people throwing your name about without your permission."

"Besides, who knows what they'll have put into the exhibition," Hermione put in.

"They asked for things of mine," Harry admitted.

"You didn't give them any, did you?" Draco demanded.

"No!"

"Not even a scrap of parchment?" Draco pressed. "That might have had your old Transfigurations notes on it or something?"

"You're kidding, right?" said Harry. "I don't give out anything personal of mine. Ever."

"I wonder how they plan to produce Harry at the ribbon-cutting," Hermione mused, as Draco looked grudgingly approving. "I mean, there's no wriggle room in that promise of his appearance. But nobody but us has even seen you since you got out of St. Mungo's, have they, Harry?"

"No," said Harry. "I wasn't exactly in shape for company."

"You look much better now," Hermione offered.

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks." Then he sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. "Dammit. I really wanted to see that Monty Python thing. But you're right, we need to see what's up with this, and the best way is probably to just attend the opening."

Draco rubbed his hands together. "We need a plan. You can't just go swooping Gryffindorishly in there, or we'll never find out what they're really up to. It could be a Death Eater plot, even."

Harry pinned him with a sudden stare, the one that made you really understand that this slender teenager was the most powerful wizard of the age. "Really, Draco? Because I was given to understand that the Death Eaters were no longer a problem. 'Relax, Harry,' you said. 'They've been dealt with. It's all over.'"

Draco turned up his nose. Hermione was pretty sure that Harry did not have the view she did of the look in his eyes at that moment. "You were – you didn't need to be worrying over them," he said defensively. "The Aurors were taking care of it."

"Were they?"

"Yes, they were," Draco snapped, recovering. "This probably has nothing to do with Death Eaters."

"But just in case – " Hermione said.

"Yes, just in case…we are going to be sneaky and Slytherin. So we need a plan." Draco ran his eyes over Harry, slouched in his chair with his hair falling in his eyes. "And the first thing we have to decide is – what are you going to wear?"

Hermione laughed and got up, as Harry looked mildly alarmed. "I can see you're in good hands, Harry," she said. "Ron and I will meet you here, and we'll go to the exhibition together."

"Hey – " Harry began, but she kissed his cheek and Disapparated.

HPHPHP

"You just abandoned me," Harry whinged, when Hermione and Ron arrived at his house two nights later. "Look what he did!"

"You look wonderful, Harry," said Hermione, surprised.

"Yeah, mate, what's the problem?" asked Ron, carefully inspecting Harry for signs of Malfoy perfidy. Harry's hair was shorter, and looked styled rather than haphazard. He wasn't wearing his glasses. His well-fitted shirt was of burgundy silk, and his perfectly draped trousers the finest black wool. It was true that his belt buckle was in the shape of a snake, but it could be forgiven in the face of the overall effect. "Is it your glasses? Can't you see?"

"He dressed me like a doll," said Harry sulkily.

"Because you can't be relied upon to dress yourself," said Draco, sweeping into the room dressed in tarnished-silver robes and carrying something long and dark over his arm. "And yes, Weasley, he can see. I did a charm on his eyes. Here, Potter, put this on." Without further ado, he swirled a black cloak around Harry and fastened the silver snake at the throat. Harry was completely concealed from neck to toes. "With the hood up, no one will know it's you until we're ready," Draco said with satisfaction.

"Not bad," said Ron, and Hermione nodded.

"Right, okay," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Are we all ready, then? Let's go."

They Apparated to the lobby of the Museum, which was crowded with people of all ages. Harry pulled his hood into place and the four of them joined the queue snaking between velvet ropes that led to the ribbon-barred doors of the new wing. Draco took the front and Ron the rear of their group, sandwiching the anonymous Harry and the pregnant Hermione between them.

"My goodness, this is exciting," said the woman standing in front of Draco. "What a wonderful way to honour Harry Potter and commemorate the anniversary of the day he saved us all from You-Know-Who."

"Mmm," said Draco noncommittally.

"And just think, a chance to meet Mr Potter himself, to thank him personally!" She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. "I'm all of a flutter. They say he hasn't been out anywhere since that day."

"Mmmhmm," said Draco.

She turned more fully, and met his gaze. "Why, you're Draco Malfoy!" she exclaimed.

Draco nodded. "At your service, Madame," he said.

She gave him a considering look. "I've heard a lot about you," she said.

"I'm sure you have."

"Is it true you turned your back on your Death Eater compatriots and helped defeat You-Know-Who, solely for love of Harry Potter?" she asked. She had an unfortunately carrying voice. A number of people gasped.

Draco choked. Harry was standing frozen still behind him. "I – wouldn't have put it quite that way, Madame," Draco said stiffly after a moment.

"But You-Know-Who was winning, until your information turned the tide," she insisted. "Don't be embarrassed. It's so romantic!"

Hermione stifled giggles at the look she imagined was on Draco's face at this. Harry did not move one muscle. She laid a hand on his arm; it was held tense.

"Thank you," said Draco, after a long moment. The people who had overheard them relaxed and smiled and turned to their own conversations.

Hermione stroked Harry's arm gently. Gradually the muscles slackened, and his stance eased. Draco turned to face him, almost reluctantly.

"Wow," Harry murmured teasingly. Hermione would be willing to bet she was the only one who heard the slight quaver in it. "War-torn romance."

Draco's face relaxed. "I just knew the winner when I saw him, Potter," he drawled.

"Well spotted, considering," said Harry.

"Is Harry Potter really gonna be here?" asked the boy – he looked to be about nine years old – who was standing behind Ron.

"Shush, Harry," said his mother. Harry started. "That's what the notice said."

"I'm named for him, aren't I?" continued Harry-the-younger, with no diminution of volume.

"Yes, love," said his mother, smiling at Ron's smile. "He's a hero. You'd do well to grow up just like him."

Harry-the-elder shuddered. Hermione patted his shoulder.

"I don't wanna have to be good all the time," Harry-the-younger complained.

Ron chuckled. "Harry Potter had his share of scrapes," he said, crouching down to address Harry-the-younger. He glanced up into the boy's mother's rather annoyed face and added, "He just knew when it was time to stop playing and get serious. Still, he's great at Quidditch and Exploding Snap. Terrible at chess, though."

"Really?" Harry-the-younger considered this. "I'm good at chess."

"Well, then you'll grow up and be your own kind of Harry," said Ron, straightening up. "You can be as good as him without being him, you know."

Hermione put her arm around his waist and beamed up at him. Harry-the-younger's mother smiled at her and said, "That's a smart man."

"Yes, he is," said Hermione.

Just then a hush swept over the crowd as the Minister for Magic and the Director of the Museum strode to the doors of the new wing. As everyone caught sight of the slight young man walking with them, a cheer began. It thundered through the lobby, growing even louder as the young man turned and waved, smiling broadly, and swept his dark hair back off the famous scar.

"Har-ry Pot-ter! Har-ry Pot-ter!" everyone shouted. Whistles and stomping rang throughout the lobby.

The actual Harry Potter flinched a bit at all the noise. "This is extreme," he said.

"No kidding, P –" Draco said, cutting himself off at the last minute.

The Minister for Magic was shooting sparks out of the end of his wand. When this had no effect, 'Harry' drew his wand, cast Sonorous, and called "Everyone, please!"

Silence fell.

"Thank you so much," 'Harry' continued. "I'm really glad to be back out in the world again, and I'm grateful for all your support. But tonight isn't just about me, it's about everyone who helped win the war." There was another cheer, but it died down obediently when 'Harry' raised a hand.

"He sure sounds like you," Hermione murmured.

"Not quite like me," Harry corrected. He was right; the other Harry sounded just as Harry himself had before he cast the spell that destroyed Voldemort forever – and incidentally, also destroyed Harry's vocal cords.

"It must be Polyjuice," Draco said quietly. "From before the final battle."

"How the hell – " Harry began.

His double was talking again. "I think it's time we all got to see what's behind those doors," he was saying.

"That's right," said the Museum Director. "We've put together a retrospective that will awe and touch all of you. The Museum is honoured to have you here tonight, Mr Potter. If you would?" He gestured at the ribbons and stepped back, as did the Minister.

'Harry' aimed his wand and the ribbons parted and fluttered to the floor. The doors opened slowly and grandly. Then 'Harry' grinned at the crowd and said, "Let's go see!"

There was general laughter, but the crowd remained orderly and passed into the rooms beyond the doors.

"Where is he?" Harry hissed, craning his neck as the line dissolved into knots of people perusing the various exhibits. "Sod this hood, I can't see a thing." He flung it back.

Draco and Ron, the tallest of the group, looked carefully around the hall. "I don't see him," said Ron.

A museum guard, overhearing, said, "If you're looking for Mr Potter, he's retired until midnight, when he'll be back to make a speech about the defeat of You-Know-Who."

"I thought he'd be looking at the exhibit," said Hermione.

"Not in this crowd," said the guard, with an indulgent smile. "We have to keep our Saviour safe."

"Of course," said Hermione. "Thank you." She tugged on Ron's arm, and the four of them moved away, toward the first wall display.

"We can't just leave it at that," said Draco. "We've got to find out who he really is, so we can sue. Right, Potter?" Silence. "Potter?"

"Ohhh," breathed Hermione.

The display at which they were standing contained a large photograph of James and Lily Potter in their wedding clothes. They were looking down at their son in a mixture of pride and sadness. Harry was standing transfixed.

"Damn," Ron muttered. Draco muttered something worse. Both men stepped up on either side of Harry, keeping other people from noticing his preoccupation with the photo of his parents.

Hermione looked at the rest of the exhibit. There was a poster detailing the events of Halloween night, 1981. There was a model of the cottage at Godric's Hollow and an explanation of the Fidelius Charm – still claiming Sirius Black as the Secret Keeper. There were photos of Sirius and of Dumbledore, as well as Remus and Peter. Peter looked extremely shifty and nervous.

In a nearby case were the fragments of a shattered child's cot. Harry's? Could it possibly be? People nearby were exclaiming; some were weeping.

Warmth at her side made her look up; Harry was standing next to her now, staring at the cot. "This is obscene," he muttered. "Where did they get this?"

"Harry, you don't have to do this," she said, taking in his white face.

His expression blanked as he looked up at her. "Yes, I do," he said, even more harshly than usual. "I need to see what they've done."

"Let's do it fast, then, mate," said Ron, looking sick. Draco was now studying a picture of the street Pettigrew had blown up in his escape. "Get it over with."

Harry nodded once and strode into the next room.

HPHPHP

The photos of the Dursleys were Muggle ones, and looked quite cheerful. There was a display of random Muggle items – a TV, a vacuum cleaner, a coffee maker, an electric lamp, a bicycle. There was a quite erroneous description of Harry Potter's life with his loving and respectful Muggle relatives. The only thing it got right was Dudley's treatment of Harry, although not its degree. Not the broken bones or the Smeltings stick assaults or the near rape.

Then there was a picture of Hagrid, smiling proudly, and a reproduction of a Hogwarts Express ticket. There was a replica of Harry's wand, and a short piece on its similarity to Voldemort's wand. Harry drew up short at that. "Who knew about that, besides us?" he wondered.

"Some of the Death Eaters knew," said Draco, looking over his shoulder. They exchanged sombre glances.

There was a model of the maze of spells that had protected the Philosopher's Stone while it was at Hogwarts. Draco amused himself momentarily by solving Snape's puzzle in less time than Hermione had taken back then.

"I was _twelve_, Draco, you prat," said Hermione loftily, when he crowed about this.

Harry-the-younger was fascinated by McGonagall's chess game. He replayed the moves they had used to get across the board, and regarded the endgame with gruesome relish. Ron shook his head over that, but forbore to comment.

There was a plaster model of Quirrell's head, with a snake-like face moulded on the back half of it. Harry passed it without comment, though a number of people were gasping with wonder and alarm at the sight of it.

"Poor boy," they overheard several times.

"Had to face You-Know-Who all by himself…"

"Teacher tried to kill him…"

The next room was much, much larger, and gasps and cries of amazement echoed from it. It transpired that this was because it contained a life-sized replica of the Basilisk Harry had killed.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione gasped.

"Nice work," said Draco, and moved on to study the replica of Gryffindor's Sword on a stand in a case nearby.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry.

Her mind continued to stutter. He'd faced _this_, when he was only twelve. He'd been alone against Riddle and this – this _monster_. And he had won. She looked back at him, still barely taller than she was, limp rather increased with the stress of the evening, and then up at the snake again. "It's appalling," she managed at last.

"It was not fun," he agreed. "But look at this. They know about the diary - my God, they've even _got_ the diary, I think it's the real thing, and the fang - but not about it being a Horcrux."

Hermione read the short piece about the diary and the "ghost" it had contained. "How did they find out even this much?" she asked.

"I'll definitely be asking them," said Harry grimly.

Ron appeared behind them. "At least they don't use Ginny's name," he said softly, leaning down so his voice wouldn't carry. "They just say 'a first-year student.'"

"That'll save them a few measly Galleons in damages, I believe," said Draco. He sneered down at the broken book in the case. The piece about the diary did mention Lucius Malfoy's name. "Let's move along, shall we?"

Harry practically ran through the next room, which was full of pictures of Sirius Black. The others followed as fast as they could; Hermione was not that light on her feet anymore. She was the one who noticed the Firebolt broom on display in there, and the artist's rendition of Harry's Patronus.

They did not linger long in any of the rooms after that. There were too many things that brought back bad memories. Harry stared at the reproduction of the Triwizard cup for a long time, eyes very bright.

After sixth year, Draco appeared in the pictures and displays as well. His photo-self preened under the gazes of the public, unlike the pictures of Harry. In every one, Harry seemed to be trying to sidle out of the frame. Harry himself wondered resentfully how the museum people had stopped him from escaping.

This entire exhibit was much more The Life Of Harry Potter than A History Of The War. Harry grew quieter and quieter as this became plain.

"Come on, Potter, this isn't getting us anywhere," said Draco at last, as they stood in the room where relics of the actual final battle were displayed. There was also a large, polished marble stone etched with the names of all those who had died that day. Harry was standing in front of it, tracing over the names and staring blankly into space. He didn't answer Draco.

"Come on, mate," Ron tried. "Um – Hermione needs to sit down."

"Snap out of it," said Draco sharply, when Harry didn't respond to that either. Some of the people nearby glanced over.

"There, there, young man," said one old lady. "It was a terrible time, but it's over now."

"Is it?" Harry whispered.

"It is," she said. "Thanks to Harry Potter, and to all these people here, we're safe from that madman."

He shook his head. "Much good it does them," he said, running his finger over Cho Chang's name, and Luna Lovegood's. "There should be more about them back there," he added, waving back in the direction of the other rooms. "It wasn't all – it wasn't all – it's like what they did doesn't matter as much. Like they died for nothing."

The old lady shook her head. "Their sacrifice wasn't in vain. Look around you. Look at all these people, who feel safe bringing their children out at night, because of the bravery of these people."

"I miss them," he said. Zacharias Smith's name, and Seamus Finnegan's. Lavender Brown. Pansy Parkinson.

"We all do," she said. "But look. This world is their gift to us. We can't waste it."

He turned to face her, suddenly smiling his rare, full smile. "You're right," he said, as she sucked in her breath at the sight of his eyes, his scar. "You're right. Thank you."

"No," she breathed. "Thank _you_."

HPHPHP

"_What_?"

"I'm not suing, Draco."

"Why _not_? They put your _life_ on display, _without your permission_! They _Polyjuiced_ someone – "

"Well, I didn't say they were getting off scot-free. Stop foaming at the mouth. It's not a good look for you." Harry waited while Draco pulled himself together. "Calm now? Okay then. I haven't told them yet that I'm not suing."

"Good. I still have time to stop this madness."

"No, come on, listen. I'm going to get them to fire Colin, first of all."

"Creevey?"

"He was me. I mean, he took the Polyjuice," said Harry. "Having to drink that stuff is almost punishment enough in itself. But it turns out that impersonating someone like he did is illegal, and the Minister for Magic is very anxious to distance himself from my wrath. Colin goes to prison for awhile."

"It doesn't mean as much with the Dementors gone," Draco sulked.

"Then I'm going to go through and – and edit their exhibition," Harry continued. "Put in more about everybody else and less about me. They don't need all that stuff about my life. And I'm going to make them take down all that stuff about Sirius betraying my parents."

"What will you do if they don't agree?" Draco asked.

Harry smirked. _Harry!_ "They'll agree. You can help. You'll like intimidating people, finding out their sources, right?"

"I like you like this," said Draco. "Getting out in the world. Standing up for yourself, and all."

"I thought you loved me," said Harry, still smirking. "Left Voldie for me, after all."

"I – " Draco gulped.

The smirk vanished. "Don't you?"

Draco tried to sound offhand. "Well, who doesn't?" he said breezily.

"Oh."

Draco couldn't stand that disappointed look. "I might – love you a little more than that," he mentioned. His heart was pounding.

Harry's face lit up in that rare, full smile. "Good thing," he said, and threw his arms around Draco. "'Cause I love you too."

The gigantic thud Draco's heart made at those words threatened to choke him. "Good thing," he rasped, and fastened his lips to Harry's.

The End


End file.
